The Roaring Twenties
by Veringue
Summary: Well, I've decided I can't wait nine whole months to see what happens, so here you have it: this is my plot line for Series 3 of Downton Abbey, including almost all the characters and pairings. Drama and romance ensured, a cup of strong tea recommended!
1. To Dance All Night

_This is my first official fic, so I'm pretty nervous, to tell you the truth, about what people will think, but I guess I'll just have to wait and see!_

_The plot will pick up more in the next chapter, I promise, and there are still many interesting twists to come (and many characters to make an appearance), so please don't think that this is all that there is to it! Naturally, reviews are massively appreciated!_

_Thank you so much for reading and hope you like it!_

_[DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, I ain't paid nothing, and there ain't no Julian Fellowes here next to me poking me with his pen. Just a mad girl with a TV series and a laptop. You have my word.]_

* * *

><p>Mary, shivering due to the cold and the excitement, had been swept up in Matthew's arms and carried back into the hall. Nimbly, he kicked the door shut behind him and then placed her on a chair as though she were nothing more than a feather. Mary had never been aware of such strength in him. Perhaps the time in service had done him some good after all.<p>

"Matthew, you must save some of your charms for the day itself," she said breathlessly, her heart pounding in her throat.

"Not to worry," Matthew replied, while making sure that he had closed the door properly and not just broken the glass.

Then he placed himself across from Mary and took her hand in his. He kissed it, and for a moment they simply tried to arrange their thoughts, to process what had just happened, how much had changed in the past ten minutes, and what it would mean for both of their futures – or, more specifically, their future as one.

Mary broke the silence. "Perhaps I should thank you, by ordering some sandwiches, just like last time," she suggested playfully.

Matthew caught her eye and smiled. "If we're to run this place one day, I don't think we should start off by abusing our staff, do you?"

Mary giggled like a little girl. She had never felt like this before, and she found the feeling quite intoxicating. She couldn't seem to get enough of it.

Leaning forward, she clasped his hand tighter, her face inches from his. "No, I don't think so."

But just as Matthew was about to bring his lips to hers, they heard the patter of footsteps and both jumped up. Matthew nearly knocked over his chair, and behind her back, Mary still clutched his hand. They put on their well-practiced innocent expressions, just as they realized that there was no longer anything to hide. They didn't have to play charades anymore, the game was over.

But perhaps now was not the time to announce the winner.

Mr Carson marched in in his official fashion, and bowed for Matthew and Mary. "Milady, your mother requests that you retire for the night, so that you are well-rested for tomorrow's happenings." He nodded his head again to conclude the sentence.

Mr Carson certainly was not a fool. He saw full well what was going between the two children – in his eyes, they were still children – and he was sorry to have interrupted their midnight rendezvous, but her Ladyship's orders were her Ladyship's orders.

"_Today's_ happenings, you mean, Mr Carson?" Matthew couldn't stop himself. Just like Mary, he, too, felt light-headed.

Mary immediately elbowed him and then squeezed his hand tighter. She suppressed a chuckle.

Mr Carson coloured pink as he realized his mistake. "My apologies, Mr Crawley, today's happenings, of course."

To avoid any further slips from her…fiancé Mary decided to make an end to this discourse. "Thank you, Mr Carson. Do inform Anna that I will be up shortly."

Mr Carson nodded, bowed again, and mutely made his way out. He hoped that the two of them would soon forget he'd ever been there.

Mary immediately turned back to Matthew. "What was that about abusing the staff?"

Matthew smiled and raised his hand to stroke her cheek – such a simple gesture, which had been unimaginable up until this day. "Hmm…" he murmured. Then he snapped himself out of his dream. "I must confess, that I had forgotten all about the fact that we are not alone."

"And tom- today's walks," Mary added softly.

"Yes…the walks," Matthew mused. He stroked Mary's jaw thoughtfully. He couldn't seem to focus on anything much, especially not _the walks_, after all that had happened. "I must ask your father's permission about _this_, however."

She lifted her eyebrows, trying not to appear too distracted as she enjoyed his gentle caresses. "You're not seriously _worried_ about that, are you?"

"Of course not." He gave her a reassuring smile and allowed her to look deeply into his sea blue eyes. She could have sworn he'd done it on purpose. Oh, those eyes, so blue! She could drown in them, swim in them all day, in that underwater serenity where she could be alone with him. There was no need to make any walk, to go anywhere anymore! She could lose herself in those eyes…

After all, his eyes had been the first thing she'd noticed about him when they'd initially met – or, in other words, started off so very badly! Not to forget his golden hair, of course, she added mentally.

"But you must promise to keep everything a secret until then," he added quickly. "Can you keep a secret?"

Mary dragged herself onto the shore and out of the depths of those captivating blue waters. It took her a moment to react. "Keep a secret? Must you still ask?" she inquired in disbelief, a mysterious smile playing on her face – well, she would have liked to appear mysterious, but there really were no mysteries to hide behind anymore. And it was better that way.

Matthew laughed. "And must you remind me?" he countered, before drawing her into his arms and kissing her tenderly.

* * *

><p>Mr Carson made his way down to the servants' quarters, and having informed Anna of her mistress' request, went to his pantry to make sure everything was in order before he retired for the night. Just as he was about to close the door behind him, however, Mr Carson's keen eye caught the glint of silver on one of the smaller tables – a candleholder he had forgotten to put away.<p>

He scolded himself mutely for overlooking it and picked up a towel so as not to smudge the candleholder's surface with his fingers. But when he was about to carefully take a hold of the glimmering object, he spotted his expression in the shiny silver. And there was a smile on his face.

"Now, remain professional, Mr Carson," he said to himself in a low voice, before making an attempt to remove the smile. But it protested.

It was there. And he could not get rid of it just like that, so he decided to let it be for the moment. Hopefully, it would fade in due course.

He locked up the silver pantry, switched off all the lights, and then went to check on Mrs Hughes, whom he found sitting at the desk in her parlour, counting out her keys. She had taken care that no one was loitering around in the Servants' Hall anymore, and was now finishing up the things for the day.

He softly cleared his throat to announce his presence.

Mrs Hughes instantly looked up. "Ah, Mr Carson, I was wondering…I saw a candleholder in your pantry and–"

Mr Carson did not let her finish her sentence. He could not, for the sake of his self-esteem. "It has been taken care of," he said quickly.

"Good," Mrs Hughes said, as she locked the drawers to her desk, and got up, her keys clanging. She brushed some imaginary dust off of the wooden table, before pausing to sniff the air upon detecting an out of place scent – Mrs Hughes thought it to be smoke – but she was too exhausted to really be bothered by it, and so faced Mr Carson again to say good night.

Yet at that moment, despite the butler's attempts, Mrs Hughes noticed something in his expression, some form of mixed joy and pride that he was trying to conceal. Immediately, she wanted to know what he was so secretly happy about.

"Mr Carson…is that a smile?" She had trouble suppressing a smirk as she questioned him.

Abruptly, Mr Carson lowered his eyes to the ground. He wanted to remain authoritative but found himself in the weaker position. "Most certainly not," he ended up replying.

Mrs Hughes could not be fooled by this disguise. "Come on, out with it!" she persisted.

A silence followed, in which all that was heard was the trickling of water in the drain outside. But Mr Carson did not respond. He would have very much liked to tell Mrs Hughes what was on his mind but it was not his place to. If she, however, could simply guess what was going on, then he would be spared that shame… Mr Carson was loyal, after all, very loyal, the most loyal.

Thankfully, Mrs Hughes could see through everyone in a second. "Is it to do with Mr Crawley and Lady Mary?"

Mr Carson looked up and met the housekeeper's eyes. No more words were needed.

Now, Mrs Hughes, although she had never much liked Lady Mary but saw no reason as to why the young woman should not be happy, smiled as well. She would not, could not mar Mr Carson's joy. "Well, it was about time," she concluded.

Thomas was beginning to find it difficult to keep his balance on the rickety chair he stood on, and at the same time keep his ear pressed tightly to the ventilation grail. A cigarette clamped between his lips, he listened in on the conversation between the housekeeper and the butler, holding his breath in anticipation as he realized that he was the first-hand witness to some extremely important news.

"What do you think you're doing up there?" came a familiar voice from behind him – familiar yet still unexpected.

Thomas jumped and almost fell off his chair. He glared at O'Brien angrily, hastily taking his cigarette out of his mouth and pressing a finger to his lips.

There was some shuffling from within Mrs Hughes' room as the lights were turned off and the door locked. Thomas leapt to the ground, put the chair away while taking care not to scrape it over the floor, and pressed himself to the wall, pulling O'Brien along with him, as Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes passed, talking in low voices.

When their footsteps had faded away down the hall, the former footman allowed a sly smile to spread across his face. Straightening up and smoothing out his livery, he triumphantly blew out a trail of white smoke.

"What is it?" O'Brien asked suspiciously.

Thomas' smile broadened to one O'Brien truly couldn't stand. "It's Lady Mary and Mr Nobody From Nowhere," he said, holding the lady's maid in suspense a bit longer. "They're engaged."

* * *

><p>Cora, the Countess of Grantham, had been standing at the window of the Yellow Room, in her silken nightgown and bathrobe. With one hand she grasped the garments tighter around her, while she pressed the other against the glass. In that position of awe, of wonder, she'd gazed down at the pitch-black lawn, where, in a square of heavenly golden light, Matthew and Mary had twirled. Like two snowflakes – pure, white, and oblivious of their surroundings, they tumbled down, to a soft landing, cushioned by each other.<p>

Cora smiled. She could not contain her smile any longer. They had waited, for years and years, to see this moment, and here was her eldest daughter, swooning in the arms of the man she had loved longer than she had knew. If only she hadn't been so stubborn in the beginning, then she may have known this happiness earlier still. But there was no use thinking like that. The point was that the goal had been achieved, that Mary was rid of Sir Richard Carlisle, and that she could now stop worrying.

She felt a hand on her back, and looked up at Robert with dreamy eyes, the smile still lingering in every feature of her face.

"Finally," she breathed as she took his hand in hers.

Robert leaned over to look outside, but Matthew and Mary had gone, melted, but left their tracks in the snow. He didn't have to see them, however, to know what had happened. He could simply read it off of his wife's face.

He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "Yes, finally," he replied, "but at least now they both wanted it just as much as we did."

Content, the two of them made their way back to their room, where, having shed her bathrobe, Cora hastily crept under the sheets. It was chilly in the house. The fires were lit, certainly, but the fact remained that in reality, it was a frigid winter. Cora tried to console herself by thinking that Matthew had kept Mary nice and warm by holding her close. They wouldn't want her to catch any sort of dreadful illness just now!

Robert had walked into his conjoined bedroom to retrieve something and was on his way back in when he was met by a tidal wave of Cora's pleadings, beseeching her husband – who was still decent – to ask if Mr Carson would be so kind as to make sure Mary went to bed. They couldn't afford to have things backfire. Not now.

Robert acquiesced and left the room, returning moments later. By this time, he, too, was frozen, and quickly took off his bathrobe before joining his wife in bed.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it, Robert?" Cora said immediately. She was nearly as excited as the daughter in question. "That after all this time, Matthew has forgiven her and they can still be happy together."

Robert rubbed his hands together. "Indeed, a miracle, really." He fluffed up his pillow and then lay down. "Thankfully, Matthew's a hero of some sort." Staring at the ceiling, with its golden fringes and crystal-laden chandelier, he immediately lost himself in thought.

Cora placed her hand upon his chest. "What's wrong, darling?"

"Nothing," he replied softly, "except that now Matthew and Mary are settled, I'm allowing myself to think of Sybil."

"The baby?"

Robert decided to just spill out his thoughts. "It doesn't suit me at all that the child should be born in Ireland."

Cora sighed and smiled simultaneously – typical of her husband to bring up a negative point on a night when even the Dowager would find it difficult to cast a gloom! "Why can't we just be happy for now, darling?" she suggested sweetly. "We'll see about Sybil when New Year's has passed. After all, if the situation between Matthew and Mary is…as we hope it to be, then there's still the wedding to be dealt with."

Robert eyed his wife. "I see where your mind lies."

"Can you blame me, Robert?" she inquired teasingly. "But let's not laugh too soon."

Gently, he placed his lips to hers. But they were forgetting something, in all their flurry, they were forgetting one of many wise words the Dowager Countess of Grantham had once uttered: _There's never a dull moment in this house._


	2. Flowers in January

_Thank you so much for reading my first chapter and finding it interesting enough to carry on! It's very, very much appreciated!_

_Just a brief note: there's one OC in this chapter, and there's another coming along, due to a lack of maids, footmen etc. (bad, bad Julian Fellowes for getting rid of them all!) so I hope you lot don't mind._

_Once again, thanks a ton, and enjoy!_

_P.S. I hope I got our beloved Dowager Countess right. She was wonderful to experiment with!_

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><p>"Shall I take on your father and you your mother?" Matthew had inquired earnestly after a breakfast during which Mary could hardly remain silent – it seemed a wonder she'd ever kept any secret! – before they'd gone their respective ways.<p>

Cora had retired to her room, and as Mary ascended the stairs, her mind on the conversation to come, she found it rather difficult to believe what she was about to share. Let alone, how she would phrase it… "Yes, hello, Mama, nice dress, yes, very, yes–" more wringing of hands "–yes, yes, you know, Matthew and I are engaged to be married!" Big smile. No, that wouldn't do, that wouldn't do at all. She had to remain composed, mature. But she hardly felt mature. She was so wonderfully happy, in a state of absolute bliss, that she could hardly organize her thoughts. She barely recognized herself anymore.

Matthew felt much the same way as he knocked on the door to the library and was immediately let in by Lord Grantham. He supposed he should simply focus on the fact that there was no way the Earl would reject him, no matter how badly the news would be delivered. That was certainly a relief. But the fact remained: He was a lawyer, and despite having been brought up in Manchester, he did have _some_ personal standards.

While Mary received enough blessings for another century from her mother, Matthew shared a cigar with his now confirmed father-in-law, who, as well as being delighted beside himself at the thought of finally having all Mary's dreams come true and acquiring a son, decided to immediately have a hearty talk with Matthew. That is, before Violet should come and bombard everyone with her opinions.

"Matthew…" Lord Grantham began cautiously, looking over at the ashtray as he tapped his expensive cigar on the side of it. "Has Mary shared any…news with you before you proposed to her?" He was trying his absolute best to pose the question as gently as possible. The last thing he wanted was to cast a gloom over this otherwise blissful day, but he had his responses ready: If Matthew gave him a confirmation, there would be no dark cloud in the sky, but if it was to be a negation…another hearty talk with Mary would follow.

In that respect, Robert was much like his mother. He believed that, no matter what, all marriages ought to be based on honesty, and, ignoring the fact that Mary then, would have chosen to ignore his advice, he could not see himself standing by as Matthew picked up the news on the late Turkish ambassador over his morning cup of tea and a glance at the daily paper.

Matthew winced as he was reminded of the conversation he had had with Mary a few days before. It was painful to recall, but not half as painful now as it had been without Mary as his fiancée. "On the topic of the late Mr Pamuk?" he said finally. "Yes, I think I'm quite up to speed as far as that goes." He quickly regained his composure and eyed his father-in-law with a small smile on his face. "Or is there something else I should know about?"

Robert let out a relieved laugh "No, no, Matthew, unless there is something even I don't know!" They both laughed.

Lord Grantham put down his cigar to pat Matthew sturdily on the shoulder. "Well, congratulations, my good chap, and I wish you all the happiness in the world!"

Matthew's blue eyes shone. "Thank you, thank you very much."

* * *

><p>It was extremely early in the morning, the sun had not even risen, and the weather was terribly gloomy, but the servants were already up and about. The event of the night before, however, was enough to make everything else irrelevant. Thomas was not one to keep his mouth shut, and even the matter-of-fact way with which he delivered the news could bring down the significance of it.<p>

"Are you sure about that, Thomas?" Anna asked doubtfully. Although she was unsure as to whether the valet was speaking the truth, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She found it hard to believe that he could know of such a thing before she herself did, but then again Thomas had his special ways.

"Sure?" he huffed, inhaling from his cigarette. "Of course I'm sure. I heard it with my own ears!"

At that moment Mrs Patmore bustled in with a big pile of bread and some leftover jam from the stillroom. Slamming it onto the table, she dropped herself with even more force, if possible, into one of the protesting chairs, and dried her hands on her apron.

"Well, you know what they say, Thomas," she muttered, "a half-truth is the most cowardly of lies." Nodding her head as though to show that she had given the statement her own approval, she proceeded to grab a piece of bread.

At that point Anna wanted it so much to be true, so much wanted her mistress to be happy even if she herself couldn't just yet, that she suppressed all her doubts and let a brilliant smile pass over her face. "Oh, I'm ecstatic for Lady Mary and Mr Crawley!" she exclaimed, still trying to keep her voice down however. She put away the fabric she had been sewing to start on breakfast but could hardly bring herself to eat.

"I'm surprised they had any love left to give each other," O'Brien found it necessary to remark.

Anna took a deep breath. She was determined that the others would not succeed in ruining the moment this time. "I'm really more happy than surprised. And I think you should be, too."

"What's going on?" asked Daisy, upon walking into the room from the direction of the kitchen. She sat down and immediately started to make herself a sandwich.

"Mr Crawley and Lady Mary are engaged," O'Brien said as drily as was humanly possible.

Daisy frowned and put some bread in her mouth. She proceeded to chew and talk at the same time. "But I thought she were married to Sir Richard!" Her surprise was certainly genuine enough.

"Right you are, Daisy." Thomas put out his cigarette. "They're all bunch of swingers, those 'aristocrats,' I tell you."

Now Mrs Patmore also found herself talking with her mouth full. "Thomas! Watch what you say in front of that girl, will you!"

Sophie, the new housemaid, had remained quiet until now. She was a shy girl, but curious enough, and, being a novice in the household, she hadn't the slightest idea what everyone was making such a fuss about. "Is Lady Mary the eldest daughter?" she asked quietly.

"Speak up, for the love of Pete!" Mrs Patmore called at her.

Sophie blushed, composed herself, and then said a bit louder, "I was wondering whether Lady Mary Crawley would be the eldest daughter."

"Yes, that's her," Anna replied, nodding.

"Your lady, is she?" Sophie continued.

Anna nodded again.

"If she's a _lady_ then I'm the Queen of England!" muttered Thomas.

"You already are, Thomas," Daisy said meekly before she could stop herself. Since everything she'd been through with William, she'd probably never be able to bring herself to really like the valet again. She didn't hate him. Daisy couldn't quiet hate anybody. But she certainly had no respect for him.

Everyone laughed and Thomas just grumbled something.

"What's wrong with Lady Mary then?" Sophie continued innocently, once the others had quieted down.

"There's nothing _wrong_ with her–" Anna started, but was interrupted by O'Brien.

"I'll tell you what's _wrong_ with that girl," O'Brien said, leaning forward. "Lady Mary Crawley has gone through more men than Miss Miriam Sabbage herself, including a certain Turkish ambassador, and I'd be surprised if her Ladyship doesn't get a heart attack sooner or later when Lady Mary brings another scandal to this house!"

"What scandal–" Sophie started, before Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes walked in. As usual, neither the butler nor the housekeeper had missed a thing of the breakfast discourse.

"That's quite enough of that for one morning!" Mr Carson boomed as everyone froze, their sandwiches still in their hands. "I do not know who spread this information amongst you–" he eyed Thomas "–but until said engagement is officially announced by the lady and sir in question, I trust that it will stay safe between these four walls." Mr Carson paused, letting his statement sink in, and fixed his eyes in turn on every member of the staff.

"Good," he said to end the silence. Then he sat down, Mrs Hughes taking her place at his side. "Enjoy your breakfast."

* * *

><p>The Dowager Countess of Grantham took the hand of her chauffeur as he helped her out of the car, and, pulling her coat tighter around her, hurriedly made her way across the gravel to the majestic front door of Downton Abbey. Violet had always had a nose for arriving just when lightning had struck, and, as always, she was just in time to catch the height of the excitement.<p>

Without waiting for anyone to open the door, she let herself in. Mr Carson, who had already been nearby, hurried over immediately when the sound of the portal closing echoed through the hall. The Dowager shed her furs into his hands.

"Heavens," she shuddered, "it is positively glacial. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if this turned out to be a modern ice age." She absently glanced around. "I did tell Robert that the twenties would bring on a tidal wave of chilling events," she concluded, rubbing her hands together to warm herself.

Having finished expressing her opinion on the weather, she turned to Mr Carson. "Robert is…I take, in the library?" She arched her eyebrows and scrutinized the butler's face in expectation of her answer.

"Yes, your Ladyship–" Mr Carson started, but the Dowager was already off.

"Thank you," she said dismissively as she made her way down the hall, every now and then puncturing the carpet with her silver-knobbed stick.

Within moments, Violet found herself in the library, and, since making a reserved entrance was not her thing, she banged her cane to catch her son's attention. He had been sitting at his desk, arranging some papers to do with Matthew and Mary's engagement when his mother almost gave him a heart attack.

He jumped up. "Oh, hello, mother! Just in time–" he approached her "–as always," he couldn't help but add.

"Wonderful, yes, I was hoping I'd catch you off guard." She put on a satisfied expression, before perching herself on the edge of one of the red plush chairs.

"Perhaps Mary would like to tell you herself," Lord Grantham decided to play things gently, "but something rather interesting has happened just now…"

Violet sighed dramatically. "Oh, Robert, please do not beat about the bush! This is all old news to me! You cannot possibly think that after having lived in this house for at least a century and a half, I would not know about the future Earl of Grantham's latest fiancée!" she exclaimed, making some contributing motions with her gloved hand. "Frankly, I am astounded it took _you_, of all people, this long to catch up with your eldest daughter's midnight escapades!" Yes, that was quite good, she decided mutely. Oh, how she loved to be ahead of everyone else!

Having taken a moment to indulge in the surprised expression on her son's face, she straightened up, leaning on her stick, and looked around the room as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Now, where is that girl?"

"Mother–" Robert started, looking astounded, and not having the slightest idea how the woman could have known.

"_La vie sans espions, n'est pas digne d'être vécue_," Violet said wisely, her eyes sparkling as she sealed her victory – a shame there weren't more people around to bear witness.

At that moment Mary, her heart fluttering and her pace quick, strode into the library. "Papa, we still have to speak to Granny and Matthew thinks Isobel might be at the hospital–" she stopped short when she saw the Dowager herself in the room. Mary's smile immediately broadened.

Violet marched over to meet her granddaughter, and pressed a kiss upon the young woman's cheek. "Mary darling," she said as she pulled back and observed how the girl's countenance had changed since she was betrothed. Mary certainly now looked a lot less like Juliet on her deathbed and a lot more like Beatrice, or perhaps Katherine, having found that she actually loved the man who used to repel her.

The Dowager sighed. "Mary darling," she said again. "You cannot imagine how happy I am for you and dearest Matthew. How happy we all are."

Mary glowed and let her grandmother take her hand. "Thank you, Granny. I know that it's taken us a while, but–"

"Indeed," Violet immediately picked up, "I was starting to doubt my theories on courtship during the 20th century, but then again, I believe we are to expect much of these…twenties."

She looked over at Robert briefly, before continuing in a more serious tone, "Now, Mary." The two women sat down across from each other, and Lord Grantham, sensing that he was no longer part of this conversation, retired to his desk. "Just to make a few things clear." The Dowager patted her granddaughter's hand amiably. "You have now found yourself a more…reliable fiancé, but, darling, I must warn you. Men are terrible flâneurs, even Saint Matthew, as hard as it may be to believe. And, seeing as I cannot be everywhere at the same time, although I do my absolute best, I give you one piece of advice: do not let him run wild. Lawyers are most eloquent."

Robert, who couldn't help but listen in, felt that it was his duty as a father and son, and as one of the (many) Crawleys to have made an indecent mistake, to put in a word here, "Really, mother, must you try to dissuade her of marrying him just now?"

Violet hardly took any notice and raised her hand in his direction to shush him. "I wouldn't expect you to understand my methods, Robert dear." She wasn't at all trying to _dissuade _her granddaughter, but was attempting to make her _see _that it was a huge responsibility to be someone's wife, that it was a huge responsibility to be the future Countess of Grantham, that one could not just elope with a Turkish ambassador anymore, and that, although Violet was fully aware that Mary loved Matthew a great deal, she must beware not to slip into a disillusion. Life still would not be a bed of roses – or a bed of _violets_ one might say.

Mary smiled and met her grandmother's eyes. "Don't you worry, Granny, Matthew isn't going anywhere, and neither am I. I'll take care."

"Well, good, good," Violet concluded, getting up again with the aid of her cane.

Robert shook his head and looked up at the Dowager from his place at the desk. "Mother, was that truly necessary?"

The Dowager Countess shrugged elegantly and dismissed him with two lines, "Who is it to say what criminal record a common man, especially once flooded by high-society, might have, once one considers what has happened in _this _house? And, besides, you forget, that he is and always will be, from Manchester."

* * *

><p>Thomas pulled on his coat, struck a match, and lit his cigarette. Most of the members of the family were out enjoying their walk so he could afford to slip away for a bit to do a thing or two. Outside, behind the boxes where he usually stood, he waited for the lady's maid, but when she finally emerged, it was not to help him complete his task.<p>

"You go on yourself, Thomas," she said as she put a cigarette between her own lips. "I have some things to attend to in Lady G's room before she returns."

"Do you?" Thomas asked suspiciously.

O'Brien looked up and reacted sharply, "What are you trying to say?"

Thomas shrugged and blew out some smoke. "Nothin', except I find myself wondering where your priorities lie now."

"With my job," O'Brien replied immediately.

"Really?" Thomas pushed himself away from the boxes and straightened out his jacket. "Well, this pays much better and that's all I care about."

"Then go on yourself, is what I said," the lady's maid repeated.

"And so I shall, and I'll give him your regards, too," the valet concluded, tipping his hat to her in a mocking salute. Then he stuck his hands in his coat pockets and sauntered away.

"Save your money on the words if that's all you care about!" O'Brien called after him. She was slowly growing sick of Thomas. And especially after what had happened to Mr Bates and the role she had played in his trial, she wasn't very keen on playing the young man's game anymore.

* * *

><p>In the drawing room upstairs almost everyone was gathered: Lord and Lady Grantham, Mary and Edith, Aunt Rosamund, and Violet, who was anxiously waiting for Matthew to come and join them. Thankfully for her, she did not have to wait long.<p>

Matthew, surrounded by a golden aura of joviality, strolled in together with his mother. He and Isobel had just had a heart-warming talk about his engagement, and all was settled.

The Dowager however had not yet managed to have a serious conversation with the heir, and she was not one who liked to be left behind, so she instantly picked her moment.

"Ah, Matthew!" she said, getting up. "Words fail me in expressing my joy for you and Mary, but let us just discuss a few things for a moment, if you don't mind…" She gestured to a corner of the room where they might speak in private and Matthew went along willingly.

"Mama…" Robert said, with a meaningful look to his mother as she passed, but Violet simply ignored him.

Lord Grantham sighed, and sat down in one of the chairs nearby Mary and Rosamund. His eldest daughter laughed gaily. "If words did ever start to fail Granny, England would fall."

Everyone picked up on the joke, and Edith, who was seated to Mary's one side, smiled, and leaned towards her sister. "I'm very happy for you and Matthew, Mary, I really am."

Mary couldn't help but be surprised by how genuine her younger sister's words sounded. "Thank you, Edith," she replied gently.

"Mary darling," Cora addressed her daughter from across the room. "Have you thought about a date for the engagement party?"

Mary shook her head. As a matter of fact, an engagement party had not even crossed her mind yet. "No, I don't know, I'll have to talk to Matthew about it." She looked over her shoulder to where her fiancé was sitting with her grandmother, who was making a lot of gesticulations, her lilac-coloured hat teeter tottering on the side of her head.

"Of course we'll have to give people a few days to reach us," Cora continued excitedly. "And I won't have much time to write out the invitations, but that's not a problem."

"Perhaps Mary would like to decide for herself whom to invite," Isobel stated. The two mothers exchanged a look, and Cora's mood was instantly spoiled.

"Well, perhaps," Mary rushed to save the situation, "we could keep it small. Aunt Rosamund is already here, so we can just let it be a family occasion?" Raising her eyebrows, Mary looked expectantly at her father, who instantly understood what his daughter was getting at.

"Let me have a word with your mother," was all Robert said. He and Cora then separated themselves from the group.

"I swear that woman will drive me up the wall," Cora said in a low voice, rubbing her forehead.

"I'm sure Cousin Isobel is just trying to help," Robert replied kindly. He smiled at his wife, but the smile had an edge of worry to it, which Cora immediately picked up on.

"Is it Sybil again?" she suggested gently. "Robert, surely you won't stand in the way of the wishes of a soon-to-be bride?"

Lord Grantham sighed. "Of course not." He laid his hand on the mantelpiece. "But the thought of having Sybil and that chauff- Branson here, as husband and wife, doesn't seem right to me. Besides, Mary and Edith don't know…yet." Robert couldn't bring himself to say it verbally and averted his eyes from his wife's face.

Cora, fully understanding what Robert was going through, reached out and laid her hand on that of her husband's. "I'll write to Sybil about the engagement. We'll give them a few days to get here, and then the girls will be in for a pleasant surprise. I'm sure Sybil will want to tell them herself, so there's no point for me to interfere. And Robert," she waited for her husband to look at her, "please try to give Tom a chance."

Pursing his lips, Lord Grantham finally nodded wistfully.

Meanwhile, Violet had released Matthew, and Mary immediately went to join him in the corner as the Dowager, looking content, left them to themselves. After all, the two 'youngsters' hadn't had a moment of peace the entire morning.

"What did she say to you?" Mary asked.

Matthew scratched his head and smiled. "Oh, that she'd been telling me to marry you since the beginning of time, that she was appalled at my having disobeyed her wishes, for she's never been wrong in her life, and she informed me that if I ever wanted to be a proper Earl, I'd have to learn to take advice from a woman."

Mary chuckled and took Matthew's hands consolingly. "Classic Granny," she whispered.

"Dearest Matthew," Violet interfered from the other side of the room, "you're forgetting that I concluded our conversation by saying that you would do very well as my grandson."

Mary laughed and linked her arm with Matthew's as they both beamed at the Dowager Countess. She turned to Matthew once more however, as soon as everyone had settled down again. "The engagement party," she started quietly, "Mama wanted an engagement party."

Matthew nodded. "And you? Do you want one?"

"Yes," Mary said immediately. "I do."

"So do I," Matthew agreed. "I think first we should give everyone a few days rest and allow some of the guests to arrive. Also, I heard what you said just then, when I was with Cousin Violet, and I agree. I think we should keep it as small as possible."

Mary smiled warmly. "Good."

"But no matter the number of guests," Matthew continued quickly, desperately wanting to say what he had in mind before they were disturbed again. "An engagement party won't do without the fiancée having a ring, even a temporary one." Before Mary could react, Matthew had drawn out a little box of black velvet.

Within moments, he'd slipped the ring – it was a band of interlaced white-golden vines, with a small sapphire as the cherry on top; the stone catching the light in a subtle sort of way – onto Mary's slim finger. It suited her perfectly, and she stared at it in disbelief. Somehow this ring had so much more meaning than either of the ones she'd received before, from Patrick or from Richard. Those had mad her feel branded, as though they were tying her down, but this one somehow felt like her passage to freedom, her way to another magical land, and that was what made it all the more beautiful in her eyes.

"I know it may not be much–" Matthew started, but Mary did not give him the chance to speak. She slung her arms around his neck, completely ignored the fact that they were not alone, and finished his sentence with a passionate kiss, which he didn't hesitate to return.

Everyone fell silent, and especially Violet took pleasure in the scene of pure love before her. Her hand on her cane, she leaned over to Robert with a triumphant look on her face. "And so April showers bring forth May flowers."

* * *

><p><em>Oh, that was a long one! Sorry, dears, I think I got a bit carried away with the lovely Dowager. So, here are some fun facts to make up for it:<em>

_Miriam J. Babbage (mentioned by O'Brien) was England's beauty contest winner in 1919, so I thought the servants might have heard of her... After all, women like Greta Garbo weren't famous yet in 1920._  
><em>Also, a translation of Violet's French line ("La vie sans espions, n'est pas digne d'être vécue,"): Life without spies, is not worth living. It has something in the word 'digne' which might mean that that life would not have enough dignity to live if there were no spies, or something like that, which I thought was very Violet-like.<em>

_Anyway, hope you liked this chapter! And I'm not one to impose on my readers, but reviews do make my day!_


	3. A Train in Motion

_Oh gosh, so many more reviews! How wonderful, thank you all a billion!_

_I apologize that it has taken me longer than the previous time to update, but I've been rather busy, although I think the worst of school has passed now. So, thanks again for being patient with me!_

_Another thing: For those of you who find long conversations, elaborate thought descriptions, or anything along those lines dull, I'm terribly sorry, but I simply adore those sorts of things. And I know that this is based upon a TV series, but it is ultimately a story, not a TV script, and that is what I'm taking advantage of, since that it is ultimately what enables me to explore the characters in this fashion._

_Anyway, this chapter is not very coherent, I know, but I had to get some threads going so that the (vague) ideas I have for this story or else none of it will make any sense at all later on... And so I guess the plot is picking up now (sort of)._

_But all I know is that if it weren't for all these lovely reviews, I would have probably already dropped this by now (I'm a rather distracted person), so thank you, thank you, thank you! And please keep those comments coming! They're immensely helpful!_

_Enjoy!_

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><p>Sir Richard Carlisle sat in his London office with the two thin strips of white paper on the table before him. He stared down at them and suddenly, in a fit of rage, slammed his fists down on his wooden desk. Leaping to his feet, he started to pace the room. Bloody hell, he couldn't let himself get carried away. He had to remain cool, composed, as was his custom, but that goddamn Mary had made him different, had lured him into love. He'd originally thought that the two of them were alike, he and Mary, but so he had been proven wrong. They weren't alike at all. In fact, the area in which he had always considered himself an absolute expert, Lady Mary had proven to be more so, she had proven to be even crueller than he.<p>

After everything he'd done for her, all the times he'd forgiven her, all the phone calls he'd made to save her and her family, she had heartlessly dropped him over a vase and a Manchester lawyer, and then coolly bid him farewell at the front door with a lovely smile and a few words. That had been all. At the time, he had had nothing witty or memorable to say in return, just something about making profit, and then something more he'd rather not said at all. His thoughts lingered, as people's thoughts tend to do, on that which he particularly wanted to forget. Had he loved Mary? He had. But he didn't want to believe it. He had thought himself incapable of such a thing.

And so now, publishing the Pamuk story wouldn't be enough. Not only would it not satisfy him, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to do it just yet. It was not Mary he hated so much right now, as strange as it might sound – it was that Matthew, who was so perfect and beloved that he could just stroll in anywhere and set Mary alight with a single idiotic remark. Richard had been so uncontrolled, so childish during the entire affair, he decided. He had made a fool of himself, and he had to set things straight. But that would not happen in a nice way. No, it would not happen gently indeed. Who was there he could still pick on? Who was easy prey?

Sir Richard Carlisle racked his brain.

He walked back to his desk and placed his fingers on the two telegrams he had received.

_M&M engaged. Stop._

_Party on the 15__th__. Stop._

They were reckless, weren't they, Matthew and Mary? So young, so reckless, and oh so stupid. Richard gritted his teeth and turned around, leaning against his desk. With his arms crossed in front of his chest, he looked out over the city of London. They would not escape him. No one had ever escaped him. And they would be no exception.

He would find a way to break them.

* * *

><p>Lord Grantham was seated in his library, writing letters at his desk, when a soft knock was heard on the door. Without looking up, he called, "Come in!" and continued to write. Moments later, Edith's small voice was heard. "Am I intruding, Papa?"<p>

Immediately, Robert put down his pen. He had not expected his daughter to pay a visit this soon after breakfast, but that certainly did not mean he wasn't pleased to see her. "Not at all, Edith, not at all."

Edith, smiling, walked over to him, and sat down in the nearest chair. "I was wondering, since I want to get Matthew and Mary a truly lovely present for their engagement, whether I may be able to go to London…" Her voice trailed off.

The Earl raised his eyebrows. "Today?"

"Yes," Edith answered, nodding. "I could take the train at noon and then be back for dinner."

Lord Grantham couldn't help but be surprised at this sudden decision that his normally rather inconclusive daughter had made. "Well, I don't see why not," he said after a moment's thought.

Edith smiled again and got up. "All right then, thank you, Papa." She turned to leave.

"But, will you be comfortable on your own?" Robert couldn't help but ask, his voice concerned. "Are the trains running properly?"

The young woman paused mid-way the room and looked at her father. "Aunt Rosamund is considering coming with me. She hadn't expected to stay so long, and now her lady's maid's gone, so she may need to stop by Eaton Square anyways," she explained. "It really won't be a problem. I've spoken to Jordan, the chauffeur, who told me that the roads are considerably less icy today, and that the trains started running again last week."

Robert nodded, partly also thinking of Sybil who would be travelling now. "I'd feel a lot more reassured if Rosamund went with you."

"I'll tell her," Edith said. She smiled gently, before leaving the room.

* * *

><p>Mr Carson strode through the majestic halls of Downton Abbey and looked around approvingly as everything was dusted and cleaned in preparation for the engagement party of Lady Mary and Matthew Crawley. Yes, this certainly was to his taste. Finally, they could all be relieved. Finally, Mary, his absolute and eternal favourite, would be properly settled, to remain at Downton forever, and Matthew, also, would be able to marry his love.<p>

Even though Mr Carson tried his utter best to remain impassive and authoritative, he was rather a romantic at heart. And so, once again, he found that he was smiling to himself. Quickly, he regained his usual authoritative expression, and continued on his way to his Lordship's library.

"Cousin Isobel, may I ask what you're doing with those flowers?" Cora's voice was heard from ahead, where the two women were apparently busy in one of the grand halls.

"Oh hello, Cora," Isobel replied. "I was just thinking it might be unsafe to have the vase on the staircase."

"No one uses that staircase," Mr Carson heard Cora say sharply.

"Well, the servants have to walk somewhere as well," Isobel spoke with such patience that one would almost think she was doing it on purpose. "And Isis could easily knock them over here."

At that point the butler entered the room, and briefly looked at the two women. It appeared that they were gabbling over a large and beautiful bouquet of flowers standing on one of the staircases. Mr Carson, who tended to take her Ladyship's side, thought that they looked rather splendid just where they were.

"Is there something the matter?" Lord Grantham inquired as he in his turn strode into the hall, Isis tagging along at his feet.

Since Mr Carson had been looking for his Lordship anyway, he decided to remain where he was for the time being, until he might be able to pose his request.

"Cousin Isobel is of the opinion that the bouquet is in the way." Cora did her best to suppress an impatient sigh.

Isobel however paid no attention to Lady Grantham and simply smiled at Robert. "I thought it might be better to put it somewhere where it is not blocking a passage."

"Surely, we do want to have it some place where it can be admired for what it is," Cora said innocently.

"One may put it on a table or a post instead," Isobel suggested, still looking at Robert as though her Ladyship weren't even present.

But Lord Grantham had spotted Sophie, the new maid, and snapped his fingers to catch her attention. "Surely one of the servants can take care of this," he said warmly.

Mr Carson felt that here he may be able to come to the aid and thus immediately hurried over to Lord Grantham. "Please, allow me to take care of this, your Lordship."

Robert smiled at the butler – efficient as ever. "Thank you, Carson."

Mr Carson proceeded to give Sophie some brief orders before turning back to Lord Grantham. "Milord, do you have a moment?"

"Certainly, Carson."

"Milord, we are in absolute need of another footman, particularly at a time like this. It would not be suitable to have a maid serving. Thus, may I have your permission to take in some applications?"

Robert's smile broadened. These may be the 1920s, but Mr Carson's traditions would certainly never change, and it pleased him to see that the man he had known almost all his life wasn't the least bit altered by all of Downton's dramatic events. "I understand," the Earl said. "Do as you deem fit."

"Thank you, milord." Carson then nodded, bowed, and made his exit.

* * *

><p>Mrs Tom Branson couldn't keep still as she looked out of the window of the train, observing as the landscape became more and more familiar. She and her husband had taken already at least three trains, some cars, had just gotten off a ferry, and still there was some way left to go. The journey was long and tiring, but somehow Sybil did not feel exhausted at all. It had been approximately a month and a half since she'd last been at Downton, and naturally she had once been gone longer from home during the war, but never had she been farther away than to Dublin, nor had ever so much changed during her leave as now. Thus this particular return was of great importance.<p>

It was odd, really. She had never found herself truly missing the place where she'd grown up when she was in Dublin with Tom, she'd never found herself homesick with him by her side, but now, when she was so close to seeing the Abbey again, and all of her family, she could barely conceal her excitement – not to mention her nervousness, of course. Her mother had written to her, about Matthew and Mary, about the engagement party, and naturally also informed her that she may do the honour of telling her sisters about her pregnancy herself, if she felt up for it.

As Sybil went over all these things in her mind, she looked down at her stomach, which was still relatively flat. Thankfully, one couldn't really see much on her yet. One probably wouldn't be able to see anything for at least another month or two, but she would absolutely have to tell everyone eventually. There really was no shame to it either, she told herself. She and Tom were married, and they were expecting a child. It was all proper enough. Except that by many of her relations (Sybil thought of Granny) Tom was still considered the chauffeur.

Anxiously, Sybil tapped her fingers to the rhythm of the train and watched the landscape flash by outside.

Tom, sitting beside her, had been watching her for a while now. The two of them looked very good together. They were both dressed quiet elegantly, he in a sharp suit, she in a beautiful dress that he'd chosen for her, although really everything fit her perfectly. But of course neat garments couldn't take away from what lay ahead.

Gently, Tom placed his hand over hers to stifle the brisk motions of her fingers, and then leaned over to press a kiss upon her cheek. He brushed some of her dark, lush hair away from her face.

"No need to be nervous," he whispered in her ear. Oh, how he adored her, loved her with all his body and soul. He had not regretted any of the choices he'd made, any of the things he'd done for her for one second. He did not regret anything, but sometimes he wondered whether she felt the same way.

Sybil sighed. "That's easy for you to say." Her words were barely audible.

Tom pulled back and cast down his eyes. There it was again, the tone in her voice… Was it regret?

It only took Sybil a moment however to realize how cold her words must have sounded to him. "No, no, I'm sorry," she started immediately, "that's not what I meant at all–"

"Don't worry," he interrupted her gently, "…because I'm not the one who had to leave everything behind, I know what you mean."

"Tom, hush," she whispered, pressing her finger to his lips. "When I'm nervous, I talk all sorts of nonsense." She smiled meekly. "I do, you know I do. I didn't mean that. It's hard coming back home. That's all. And now…with Matthew and Mary, they make me think– But none of it matters, because I have you."

Her face was inches from his now, and he looked her deeply in the eyes. Those chocolate brown eyes he loved, that beautiful hair – so soft when he stroked his hands through it. He often did wonder why, ultimately, she had gone with him, even eloped with him that first time. She could have had anyone, anyone in the world, but she'd chosen him.

Sybil saw the doubt in his eyes, the doubt she knew very well, and she hated to see it. She didn't want it to be there. Because there really was nothing he ought to be troubled about. She often found herself afraid to face her family, but never afraid of him. Every single time she'd awoken from a nightmare, he had always been there to comfort her. And she wanted him to always continue being there. She wanted no one else, no one else in the world.

"I understand–" Tom started, but once again Sybil hushed him gently.

"Tom, my love." She cupped his face in her hands. "You must pay no attention to the things I say." And she kissed him.

A shame that they did not yet know Ingrid Bergman in that time, in those sweet twenties when people still believed they were living in the turn of the century, that time when trains still puffed and rocked their passengers in pleasant monotonous rhythms, lulling young men and women to sleep or luring them, every so subtly, into the realm of love. So it was a shame that neither Sybil nor Tom knew of a certain quote by the beautiful actress as their lips met, joining them together into one single rhythm, one single pulse, one single heartbeat… A shame, yes, but perhaps it was because of people like them, people who dared to make moves and to express pure and passionate love, that the quote came to originate at all.

Either way, if Ingrid Bergman had seen them sitting like that, wrapped in each other's arms, all other thoughts driven from their youthful minds, on the leather bench of the train bringing them ever closer to Downton, she would have most certainly remarked, _"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."_ And she would have been completely right.

* * *

><p>In his room, Lord Grantham was getting ready for dinner. Thomas stood in front of him and fixed his tie before walking around to the closet to retrieve his Lordship's fine black dinner jacket. In the mirror Robert straightened out his waistcoat. He didn't feel entirely comfortable yet with the former footman dressing him, but well, he seemed to have misjudged the young man so far and he felt bad for it. And for more practical reasons, Thomas was also the best choice. After all, Mr Carson had enough on his hands as it was and Mr Bates probably wouldn't be back for a while, if he ever did get out of prison.<p>

As though Thomas had read his Lordship's mind he said, "Have you heard anything more about Mr Bates, milord?" Walking back around, he helped Lord Grantham into his jacket, before brushing something off of his shoulders and smoothing out the sleeves.

"Unfortunately, not yet," Robert answered. "It's still too soon for us to do much, I'm afraid, but Matthew informed me that he knows people who can help, and of course Murray is a very trustworthy man."

Thomas nodded, but his expression did not change. If anything, it became darker. But this, of course, Lord Grantham could not see with his back to his valet. With the jacket all dusted and neat, Thomas made his way back to the window where the case of cufflinks stood next to his Lordship's collection of snuffboxes. The footman couldn't help but think back to the time when he had stolen one of those for the sake of framing that same Mr Bates.

Quickly, he collected his thoughts. "And Mr Murray will prove Mr Bates' innocence?" he inquired as casually as he could manage, adding, "The regular chain cufflinks or double faced ones, milord?"

Lord Grantham frowned at Thomas' curiosity but did not remain suspicious for long. He was generally willing to believe the best of people, and thus accounted Thomas' inquiries to plain politeness and an attempt at making conversation. "The regular ones, thank you, Thomas," he said, holding out his arm to the valet, before continuing. "Yes– well, naturally, that is what we are hoping for. Mr Murray is a keen man, but this is not something one can do on one's own."

Thomas had selected the cufflinks of his Lordship's choice and was now already busy at inserting them in the sleeves of his dinner jacket. "And you believe that he is innocent?" He didn't look up as he asked this question.

Once again, Robert frowned as he observed his valet, who suddenly seemed utterly absorbed by the cufflinks. "I do, yes, but unfortunately believing is not enough. Proof is the only thing that can save him now."

"Do you think that that proof can be found, milord?" Thomas asked.

"I do, yes," Lord Grantham confirmed. "But what are you trying to say, Thomas? You know that you may speak freely."

Thomas' expression remained impassive as he finished fastening the second cufflink. "I was merely wondering…whether he may be as innocent as you believe him to be," he stated plainly. The Earl had, after all, invited him to speak up, and Thomas was not one to miss out on a given chance. But he certainly didn't want to appear too bold. "That is all, milord, I was just wondering."

Robert sighed, and as Thomas stepped aside, he looked in the mirror, at his own face. It was the face of a tired man. "So you think him guilty, Thomas?" he asked neutrally. A common young man's opinions certainly wouldn't influence his mindset anyway, so there was no harm in knowing his the valet's thoughts.

Thomas pursed his lips and watched as Lord Grantham straightened out his jacket. "Not necessarily, milord, I just thought perhaps we should…entertain the possibility."

The Earl cast down his eyes. There was some core of truth in what was being said, and as much as he didn't want to believe it, Robert knew that he would have to face the prospect some time. "That may well be." He spoke eventually. "But it is far too soon to give up yet. Thank you, Thomas." He walked to the door and smiled briefly at his valet before going out.


	4. How Delightful!

_Hello again! Long time, no see!_

_I am so so sorry that it took me about an age to update! I've been incredibly busy and followed around everywhere by my eternal ex-boyfriend named "School"! But I swear I didn't forget about this fic or about any of you for one second!_

_Soooo many new reviews and all of them positive! I could not have wished for more! Thank you, thank you, thank you!_

_I just cannot stop thanking you guys! I do hope this chapter was worth the wait!_

* * *

><p>O'Brien put some finishing touches to Cora's hair as her Ladyship proceeded to apply perfume to her collar bones and wrists. The heavy curtains were drawn, the fire crackled in its hearth, and through the large windows light streamed, fresh and bright, although still reflecting the greyness of the winter, and the reluctance with which the sun made its way across the frozen landscape. It was almost breakfast time for the Crawley family.<p>

But for Sarah O'Brien it was time to ask yet another favour of her dearest Lady Grantham. "Milady, if I may ask a question?"

"Of course, O'Brien!" Cora replied immediately. She was in a good mood today, and the lady's maid knew she'd caught her at the right moment.

"Well, I've been informed that Mr Carson is looking for a new footman," she started slowly, just to see what her Ladyship's first reaction would be.

"Yes, I heard him speak to Robert about," Cora said absent-mindedly, touching up her hair in the mirror. "He seemed quite desperate. The engagement party's being so soon doesn't give him much time, after all."

"That's just what I wanted to talk to you about, milady. My nephew, Alfred O'Brien, is a hard workin' and trustworthy lad, who served as a footman for two years at an estate not far from here, in Scotland. The family sold the house recently, so he is now without a job, but still in the same area. He's young, but if you'd be willin' to give him a chance, he'll not disappoint you. As I said, he's a good lad."

Looking thoughtful, Cora turned around in her chair to meet her lady's maid's eyes without the aid of her reflection. "I'll have to talk to Robert about it, of course, but thank you very much for your consideration, O'Brien." She smiled, and then got up, straightening out her dress. Miss O'Brien, feeling she had accomplished as much as she could at this stage returned the compliment with a small appreciative nod and made a few adjustments to the back of Cora's garment before going to get her gloves.

A few moments later her Ladyship was ready, but just as she reached the door she turned around one more time and gazed at the woman standing alone in the middle of the room, the woman whom she'd known for years and years now, and whom she _did_ truly appreciate, no matter what. "I mean it, O'Brien," Cora said, "you have always been so incredibly resourceful and kind." She paused, and then added, "I'm sure Mr Carson will be most relieved."

Once Lady Grantham had left, O'Brien couldn't help but sit down on the large four-poster bed. She rubbed her forehead, feeling dizzy, rather confused, and plagued by guilt. When would she ever have the courage to tell of what she had done?

* * *

><p>Tom Branson helped his wife out of the car before he removed his hat and turned around on the sunbathed gravel of the lawn to face that beautiful and majestic building once again. With bated breath he took in the sight of Downton Abbey before him. It was so strange to be returning here like this, now, as a guest, as a family member, as someone considered to be "upstairs." He couldn't quite believe it, and he didn't really know what to make of it either. How was he supposed to behave? He'd always just stuck to being himself, unchangeable, firm, but would they expect him to be different now?<p>

Sybil smiled and took his arm. She couldn't believe it either, couldn't believe any of this. She couldn't fathom that she was coming back here as a married woman now. It was too beautiful to be true, and she wasn't in the least bothered by the fact that her husband happened to once have been the house's chauffeur. It didn't at all matter to her what the family thought of her husband. The fact remained that he was _her husband_, and there never would be any other.

Tearing her eyes away from the house, she looked up at him, and their white breaths mingled.

"Nervous?" she asked gently.

He didn't answer, but she could see the muscles in his jaw twitch. Before Sybil could say anything more, however, the front door flew open, and out came Mary.

"Sybil darling!" her elder sister exclaimed, before the two of them embraced tightly. So much had changed since they'd last seen each other. It may as well have been a decade ago, and, mingling with the joy, the usual feeling of slight impatience to cut straight to the chase when one still has much to tell the other overwhelmed both young women.

But they could not exchange everything they felt just yet. Edith was next at the door, and Sybil greeted her just as warmly. Then there was her mother, who burst into a fit of gleeful exclamations at seeing her youngest daughter again, tears brimming in her eyes, and her father– Sybil stopped in her tracks. They had indeed parted in peace, but perhaps, during the month that they had been apart, things had changed in Lord Grantham's mind, perhaps…he thought differently now. She hesitated.

Yet a father cannot lose his daughter for long, and during the past few years, Robert felt that he had lost Sybil. She had fallen in love with a man, fallen head over heels in love for the first time, had helped so bravely during the war, and had done so many things, which he had hardly been aware of. He hadn't quite confessed it, but he had felt that Sybil had slipped away from him. In fact, he was feeling it just now, as he saw her before him again, with that eager sparkle in her pretty eyes, with her long hair, growing lusher and thicker than ever, and her slim body, which – it seemed to him, only yesterday – he had held in his arms.

She had grown up, and he had hardly realized it. Cora had come to terms with it quiet quickly but somehow he had refused to believe. A coward, that's what he was. His youngest daughter had become an adult so soon, and he had refused to believe it true. He'd thought it some sort of a trick. And yet here she was, again, before him. So, she had not slipped away entirely… And this was his chance to make up for all of it, everything he hadn't wanted to believe about her, everything that she'd been trying to tell him for the past few years.

And he hugged her.

In the moment that Robert and Sybil shared together, Matthew had managed to slip out of the front door, and position himself beside Mary. He watched on as, instinctively, he intertwined his fingers with those of his fiancée, and pulled her gently towards him. Gently enough, so that he may feel as close to her as humanly possible, but not so much that anyone should take notice.

"Ah, Sybil dear!" Violet's shrill voice rang out across the lawn from where she had assumed her position in the frame of the door. "Do come in! Although you may consider yourself thoroughly Irish now, that certainly does not mean you are immune to these horrid temperatures and I will stand by as– Oh heavens, this dog gives me seizures, Robert! It's quite like a jungle here," the Dowager concluded promptly, her hand still on her chest in memory of the moment that Isis, the golden Labrador, had slipped past her like a big panting lion.

Isis dashed out onto the lawn and started to run circles around everyone and so the party made their way inside. Tom, who knew that this had been Sybil's moment, had respectively stayed behind to make sure their luggage was duly taken care of, and as he looked up, he noticed some of the servants standing by the door – Anna, Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes… _They_ were serving _him_ now, he realized.

Tom caught Anna's eye and exchanged a brief smile with her, when suddenly he was tapped on the shoulder, and jumped. "No need to be on edge, Tom. Jordan can handle the suitcases. I hope your trip was not too tiring." Lord Grantham smiled and sturdily shook his son-in-law's hand.

Tom returned the handshake and felt his pulse ease at the spontaneous and natural way Robert Crawley addressed him. Perhaps like Sybil, he also had been afraid that during the month that they had been gone, things may have changed for the Earl. And apparently, they had, but for the better. "Long yes," Branson replied, "and I think Sybil needs some rest. But we didn't have much trouble."

With his hand still on Tom's shoulder, the Earl and the socialist walked into Downton Abbey together. From the corner of his eye, however, Mr Branson still tried to catch a glimpse of Anna, but she was already gone.

* * *

><p>He held the parcel in his hands as he walked back to the grand house, that, ahead of him, glowed warm and welcoming in the chill of the night. All the windows emanated light, and even from where he was upon the lawn, he could hear the voices of the people inside amongst the crunching of his own footsteps on the frosted gravel. But he was left unaffected by all of this. He had a mission to complete, and it would be completed, as requested, on the eve of Mr Matthew and Lady Mary Crawley's engagement party.<p>

He looked down at the gift he carried under a cloth. He knew that the fabric concealed paper of a bright red colour, which, in some form, represented the blood that was still to be spilled, the dresses that would be shredded, and the wine glasses that would be knocked over. He could almost see the dark liquid spreading through the white cotton tablecloths currently being laid in the main hall. He could see it in front of him, but why? After all, he was not the one out for vengeance. He was simply acting in the name of another.

Why? Because it was in his nature, and when something has lodged itself in one's nature, you need a very keen craftsman to fish the cruelty out again.

He entered the house, and made his way to the big hall, where everything was being arranged and set up. Within a moment the present had been placed among the others, within a moment it had already blended in. Such a simple act, which would, hopefully, probably, have an enormous effect.

"_Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves."_

* * *

><p>The candles flickered gently in the evening light, as if to the music of the orchestra playing in the corner of the grand hall. They danced around the people twirling on the floor like fireflies, and the little flames quivered, trembled, with fear and excitement at what may lie ahead. Another dance…<em>another<em> dance. Could a dance make such a difference? Could this one truly be so different from all the others? Could it be seen as the end of a story…or the beginning of a new one? Because Matthew and Mary's story really has only just begun.

Matthew got up, and bearing in mind that although he may have his whole future with Mary ahead of him, he would take advantage of every second they had together, and that also included now. _Now_, this moment, the moment they were in, was all that mattered. The engagement party could be seen as something symbolic. It may be just a name for another event, but for Matthew and Mary so much had happened to lead up to this, that the engagement party really wasn't just _any _celebration. They had been looking forward to this for so long, to the moment that they could finally freely spend time together…that nothing, sentient or inanimate, could stop Matthew Crawley now. No one, not a single soul, nothing could possibly stop him from being with the woman he loved more than anything else in the world, the woman whom he loved more than he could possibly tell, and infinitely more than I can ever hope to express in writing.

Carrying all his love and loyalty with him, he reached his hand out to her, and they danced, in the flickering of the candles, the flames of which were like their souls, mingled together in colours of yellow, orange, and an underlying shade of blue. The blue is what had persisted all this time. If it hadn't, after all, they may not now have been on their way to becoming the future Earl and Countess of Grantham.

When Matthew and Mary were back at their table, champagne was poured for all. The room was filled with laughter, and many more congratulations' followed. Everyone had already congratulated the happy couple approximately five times by now, but five times was not nearly enough. Everyone felt the same way. No one could possibly express their joy at finally seeing these two young people together.

"So, Matthew…_my love_," Mary teased. She smiled at him, and, under the table, squeezed his hand. "Who gets to open the first gift?"

When he saw that smile of hers, he melted away immediately, like the wax of those candles, captivated by a flame so beautiful and mesmerizing. "Ladies first, of course," he managed softly.

And so she released his hand to unwrap the first gift. Package after package followed: a beautiful necklace from her Ladyship, cufflinks from his Lordship – "Oh these will give Molesley a fright!" Matthew remarked, laughing – hand-made Irish jewellery from Sybil, and from Edith a set up of pearl earrings which Matthew couldn't wait to see on his fiancée! Also, Cora had promised that loads of new frocks and suits were, as they spoke, being tailored in London – such a shame it was that they couldn't be ready on time for this party!

Then, Matthew received, from the Dowager Countess, who was as bold and persistent as ever, the book _The New Woman _on the rise of the fairer sex during the 20th century. The young man blushed a deep shade of pink, but had to quickly regain his composure as Violet leaned over to make her an accompanying comment, "You see, Matthew, we most certainly are a gender worth being listened to! After all, behind every great man is a great woman!"

Everybody laughed and raised their glasses filled with shimmering liquid gold to toast. Matthew and Mary smiled at each other. "Well, I'm afraid I'm not much of a great man," he whispered in his fiancée's ear, "but I certainly have a great woman to fall back on."

She laughed and inconspicuously placed her hand upon his knee. "When one says 'great,' it makes me think of achievements. It reminds me of the— never mind," she interrupted herself quickly. She mustn't think like that. "All I know is that I prefer you much more not being a great man, but simply being the best of men." She smiled at him fondly when she noticed something on the table. "Oh, it seems we forgot one gift!"

And placing down her glass, she set about unwrapping the last present. It was a square box about the size of her cake plate, encased in blood-red paper and a silken ribbon, with a little card tied to the top of it. Eagerly, her fingers fumbled with the string as she pulled the card free and opened it.

_Enjoy them while you still can._

A frown creased Mary's forehead as she read the note, and then put it down. What could it possibly mean? As Matthew was engaged in a conversation with his mother, he didn't see Mary's composure change, and so Mary found herself in this alone.

Pulling away the last of the paper revealed a white box with another ribbon, which she undid. Finally, she lifted the lid. In neat rows of five by five, Mary was met by the sight of twenty-five little sweets, of different colours and coated in sparkling sugar. They daintily stared up at her. At first, the present seemed normal enough, just some pastries, but it took Mary no longer than a few moments to realize what pastries they exactly were.

And when she did realize, her breath caught. She grabbed Matthew's hand. She knew from who the present was. There simply was no way around it.

The sweets were Turkish delights.


	5. Setting Sail

_So sorry again for the long wait! My muse was on vacation for a while but she's back now, as am I, which means that school is lapping at my heels again. Anyway, these are all lame excuses, I know, but still, I'm terribly sorry, because I got so many sweet reviews, and I didn't want to keep you waiting... BUT, on a plus point, the chapter is finally here! Yay! And I had so much fun writing it, I think I got a bit carried away with Violet... It's indecent, to the point that my enthusiasm may have led to some OOC-ness, but oh well, I was having way too much fun to worry. Sorry, now I'm letting down my inner critic._

_OK, I'll stop babbling, just some shameless self-promotion before I let you read:_  
><em>- I started a new story called "A War of Vanities" centred around Matthew and Mary, which is completely AU and can be found at my account.<em>  
><em>- I am the admin of the Downton Abbey RP on Tumblr (.com) and we desperately need active roleplayers! Also, our Matthew just quit and I play Mary and basically I'm desperate, so if you'd like to play Matthew, or the Dowager, or Evelyn Napier, or William, or Edward Courtenay, please apply there! I'd be eternally grateful (not that I am already since you're even reading this, but you know what I mean)!<em>

_Now, shush Veringue, and let them read. Thanks so much for sticking with me! Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Before anyone could say a word Mary had gotten up, swept her napkin off of her lap and thrown it onto the table, excused herself under her breath, and strode out of the room. Once she was out of sight and a little way down the nearest hall, she found herself unable to stand any longer, and clutched the wall, covering her face with her hand. She desperately tried to sort out her thoughts. The idea, not only of him still thinking of her, but also that he had people within the house performing services for him <em>against <em>her was enough to make her feel unwell. How could she ever become the Countess of Grantham if there was no one who respected her, and no one she could trust? She simply wanted to be rid of Sir Richard Carlisle, for once and for all. But, in all honesty, that was easier said than done, although Mary did like to be dramatic.

Moments later she heard someone round the corner, the sound of their footsteps growing louder by the second. But, recognizing them to be Matthew's, she did not shy away. She had often stood like this, on the brink of desperation, trying to find support within a house that could also easily crumble, yet never had he been able to comfort her until now. Within a second he had his arms around her. "Mary–" he started, but she automatically broke free of his grasp. She couldn't help but think that she was bringing him down with her – sweet, sweet Matthew. It was all _her_ fault after all.

"Why can't he just leave us, Matthew?" she pleaded, a breath away from sobbing, her back against the wall. "Why can't he just leave us in peace?"

Matthew frowned. He hated seeing her like this. It reminded him of…old times, times in which there had been nothing he could do to help her. And, as a lawyer and a proper gentleman, being powerless made him more anxious than anything. "It's fine, Mary, ignore it, ignore him, it's all right–"

"No! It's _not_ all right! It really isn't! I don't constantly have to be reminded of the time I dragged the body of a Turkish ambassador through the corridors of this house!" She frantically gestured around her. She took a deep breath, and added more softly, "And then the present…while I was sitting next to you, Matthew…I don't want to take you down with me."

Matthew tried hard to suppress a small understanding smile. "Mary, I don't think anything worse than what we've already been through can happen. There's nothing Sir Richard can do as long as we're together–"

"But–"

"He _wants_ us to be desperate, Mary," Matthew continued quickly, "he wants to make our life terrible. Don't let him."

Mary looked up at him, at her golden Perseus, from under dark, moist eyelashes, and she let him take her hand. She had managed to calm herself down considerably now and, since the heat of the moment had passed, she was able to think more clearly. But this ability really only led her to the conclusion that, as usual, Matthew was right.

"I don't want him anywhere near us, Matthew," she murmured. "I want him out of our lives. I'll be happy with you always, and there's nothing Sir Richard can do about that, but I want him gone."

Slowly, Matthew wrapped his fingers around hers and clutched her hand close to him. "You're a storm-braver, Mary, if ever I saw one."

"_We_ are storm-bravers," Mary corrected, before leaning forward to kiss him.

From around the corner Edith pressed her back against the wall. Still holding her breath, she looked the other way, and the expression on her face was one of desperation. She had heard the entire conversation. How could she have done this to them? Of course she hadn't directly had anything to do with the delivery of the gift, but ultimately most of this unhappiness had been caused by her.

Mary had naturally been the one foolish enough to let herself be swept away by Pamuk in the first place, but nobody's perfect, and, to be honest, Edith didn't think she would have turned down the Turkish ambassador if he would ever been drunk enough to want to come into her room. Still, that time, those few years ago, Edith had felt had so forcefully felt the need for some form of pathetic sisterly revenge. Little had she known what consequences her private grudge against Mary would have for the rest of the family and Downton itself. So ultimately it had been her fault. And it was about time she made up for it.

Briskly, she wiped away the tears that had started to roll down her cheeks, and straightening up, moved away from Matthew and Mary and to another vestibule where she knew a telephone was. She picked up the receiver with a trembling white hand. "Hello operator," she said with a small tremor in her voice. "I would like to place a call to London."

* * *

><p>"Daisy, Daisy! Where is that girl?" Mrs Patmore's voice resonated through the downstairs hallways, calling for the scullery maid who could just as easily crumble beneath the order itself as well as in the execution of it.<p>

"Coming, Mrs Patmore!" Daisy never raised her voice more than was necessary and was already well on her way back to the kitchen, hauling the heavy baking trays behind her, when Mrs Hughes rounded the corner.

"No need to bother with those anymore, Daisy," the housekeeper said. "It is to be supposed that dinner is over."

Daisy's face scrunched up in an expression of incomprehension. "It is to be supposed?" she repeated.

"DAISY!" Mrs Patmore roared again, but Mrs Hughes briskly assured the girl that she would take care of the cook and thus continued on her way to the kitchen.

"Well, for pity's sake, couldn't they even save us the trouble of bothering at all?" Mrs Patmore groaned once Mrs Hughes had told her the news. She dropped herself in one of the chairs in the servants' hall, where now also other staff members were, and rubbed her forehead. "They're more changeable than any man Elijah turned about!"

In a nearby corridor Daisy had just finished up returning the trays to their original spots when she heard a sound at the back door. Wiping her hands off on her apron she went to see what it was, and found, to her utter surprise, a grey-coloured kitten mewing and shivering in the cold. This was a sight the soft-hearted girl could not bear to see and immediately took the creature in her arms, rubbing some warmth into its frail little body.

Within moments she was back in the kitchen. "Mrs Patmore, look what I found at the door and–" she stopped short at the utterly disgusted look she received from the cook.

"Have you gone completely off your nuts, Daisy? Get that rag out of my kitchen," she gestured roughly in the direction of the door, "and go make me some tea! For the sake of decency," she added under her breath.

Daisy sighed. "Yes, Mrs Patmore," she answered, before running off again.

Mrs Hughes knew better now than to try and make Mrs Patmore understand the graveness of the upstairs situation. When the woman used 'sake' more than once every ten minutes you knew she was annoyed, and so, with a sigh, the housekeeper retired to her chamber. She would see if she could catch Mr Carson a bit later.

Thomas, who had been sitting at the kitchen table, was joined by O'Brien a moment later. But the young valet hardly looked up and continued to polish his Lordship's shoes, although never losing track of the conversation. When he was young, Thomas' friends swore he had an extra set of ears and eyes. And now, as a valet, he could truly put his eavesdropping talents to use, since he had lots more time off. Life was swell for Thomas, and as long as the bell didn't ring, he wasn't going anywhere.

"Seems like you just missed out on a rather Jake thing," he said in a low voice as O'Brien sat down beside him. Over the years, Thomas had smoothly mastered the art of speaking selectively, or, in other words, speaking at such a volume that you were only heard by a selective audience.

"I do know what's goin' on," O'Brien reproached. "And I also know who's behind it." She eyed the valet.

Thomas just shrugged, a sly grin spreading across his lips. "Can't let being a valet get dull too soon, can you?"

Just then Daisy walked in again with the cup of tea for Mrs Patmore. "Here you go," she said. "Also," she started hesitantly as she watched the cook bow of her hot cup, "I wanted to ask you if–"

"Not right now, Daisy!" Mrs Patmore seemed to shout at her tea. "You can talk to your pet about your zoological plans, if y' like. I 'ave other things on my mind."

The girl nodded sullenly. "Well, I put the kitty in the kitchen with some left-over milk, so I hope you don't mind–"

"Hope I don't _mind?_" Mrs Patmore demanded in disbelief, glaring up at Daisy. "What in heaven's name is wrong with you?" Shoving her chair back with force, she got up and stormed into the kitchen.

Thomas, who was no longer entirely sure he could rely on O'Brien as his accomplice anymore, still desperately needed someone to discuss his plans with and immediately took advantage of the moment, leaning towards the lady's maid.

"Been meanin' to tell you I spoke with Lord Grantham," he said casually, still keeping his eyes on the kitchen, where Mrs Patmore was making a racket with some frying pans. "He says they're trying to get Bates out."

"Of course they are, you sap!" O'Brien shot back. "What did y' think, that they'd drop the dear ol' cripple because they've got you now?"

Thomas groaned and put away the shoes he still had on his lap. "But s'ppose they don't get him out? S'ppose we find a way to keep him in there? There's got to be a way, don't you think? There's got to be a way to prove them–"

"Listen very carefully, Thomas Barrow," O'Brien cut him off sharply, "There ain't no _'we'. _There's a world o'difference between wantin' to do good for yerself, and being a complete arse. It's a fine line!" With that, she got up. "I'm perfectly satisfied as a lady's maid 'ere, and I 'ave no intention of havin' to turn in my notice because of _you_!" She strode out of the room just as Mrs Patmore returned.

"Well suit yourself, Sarah O'Brien," Thomas muttered to himself. With an aggressive gesture he picked up the Earl's shoes again and continued to polish them, even though they were already so clean that they reflected his pale face.

* * *

><p>"Heavens!" Violet exclaimed for the hundredth time that week, and if there had been any gods to hear her, said heavens might have already crashed down upon the heads of the Crawleys. Or perhaps they already had, with a little aid from Sir Richard Carlisle. To make a long story short: the Dowager Countess of Grantham was relatively surprised, which was more surprised than she usually was. It had just been explained to Violet and the others others what the Turkish delights exactly meant, or, well, it had been explained cryptically, an art which the aristocracy were absolute experts in.<p>

The present itself had already been thrown out, and everyone was gathered in the sitting room, including Matthew and Mary themselves. Mary was a storm-braver, like Matthew had said, and retreating to her room would be going against that title. She couldn't let Sir Richard win, she had to brave this last storm, and sail against the waves until she reached the shore.

When she had the chance, the Dowager Countess positioned herself between her granddaughter and her daughter, although she hardly ever took any notice of the latter unless it was absolutely necessary, and laid her hand upon that of the younger woman's. "Mary darling," she said, "I believe it to be time that we took things rather more seriously now that we once again find ourselves in more troubled waters."

Mary tried her best to remain attentive and listen to what her grandmother was saying, but since she knew that the Dowager tended to speak in more riddles than was necessary, she had difficulty tuning in at all. "So, what do you suggest, Granny?" she managed eventually. On her other side, Matthew was sitting, and she felt how he gently pushed his foot against hers, as a sign that he was still there.

"Well," Violet continued, "we're both known to be good sailors, but the question is how to rock this ship just enough to rid ourselves of stowaways." Violet's sea blue eyes narrowed mysteriously and the expression they carried made it seem as though she were caught up in some adventure novel – those sorts of things were always right up her alley.

Still holding onto her granddaughter's hand, Violet suddenly turned to Rosamund. "Rosamund dear, how many assassins do you know in London?" she asked loud enough for the entire room to hear and consequently fall silent. The Dowager Countess may be a good sailor, but she was an even better captain.

"Mother!" Robert exclaimed, but, as usual, Violet paid no notice to her son. She had merely spoken for the sake of making her relatives realize that it was time for serious measures to be taken. Rosamund, meanwhile, was speechless.

Facing Mary again, the Dowager said, "I may have lived for a century and a half, but I have not yet forgotten about London or its inhabitants, darling. And, I assure you, I know many a sort who think of that vulgar newspaper magnate just as he thinks of this family. All roads lead to Downton. But, allow me to give you one last peace of advice, my dear–" Violet paused, no doubt for dramatic effect, for it was not as though her right to speak could ever be taken away by anyone, "–forgive Sir Richard." Mary's lips immediately parted, but Violet raised her hand in a silencing gesture "Nothing will annoy him so much."

And so, with a finalizing quote from none other than Oscar Wilde, it was agreed that anything Sir Richard Carlisle could do, the Crawleys could do better.

* * *

><p>The night was dark and impenetrable, the Crawley family had retired to bed, and so had most of the servants. Yet, as always, there were some who stayed behind, and tonight, there were more than usual.<p>

Mrs Hughes knocked on the door to Mr Carson's pantry and waited to hear his low voice before entering. He was going through the very tedious and careful process of filtering wine from a bottle into a carafe to have it properly aired for the following dinner. This wasn't particularly necessary but after the night's events it put Mr Carson's mind at ease. He was especially intent on having his dearest Mary properly settled, and that night, for the first time, he wasn't so keen on seeing Mrs Hughes. After all, she had never understood his paternal feelings towards the eldest Crawley daughter.

Mrs Hughes, in her turn, knew exactly what Mr Carson was thinking. They had known each other for many decades now and she was not one to be easily fooled. For a moment she paused in the doorway. Then she said, "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mr Carson."

Without looking up from the dark crimson liquid that was trickling down in front of him, the butler replied, "Not at all, Mrs Hughes."

"Well, then I might as well get straight to the point," she continued more confidently. "I know that it is not our place to question what the family might be doing, but I worry about Lady Edith." There, she'd said it. Now Mr Carson just needed to share her opinion.

To Mr Carson this was the oddest thing he had ever heard. And he had most certainly heard quite a lot of odd things in his day. He frowned, straightened up, and gently set down the bottle of wine with a soft thud. He took his time in wiping some residual drops from its neck, taking a moment to ponder over what the housekeeper might be talking about, before he finally fixed his eyes on Mrs Hughes. "And why might you be worried about Lady Edith?" he inquired.

"I worry, Mr Carson," she said, "that Lady Edith Crawley may soon, if not already, find herself in rather deep waters."

Meanwhile, not far from Mr Carson's room, Tom Branson was tiptoeing down to the servants' hall. He had taken that staircase so often the last time he'd resided at Downton Abbey but now his worlds were switched around. Upstairs was where he supposedly belonged and downstairs he was trespassing. In his pitch-black suit and crisp white shirt he felt oddly out of place as he made his way to the servants' hall. Just as long as no one saw him… Tom looked around nervously.

Most of the servants had already gone upstairs, but Branson knew Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson tended to stay up late. He cast a furtive glance towards the butler's pantry, where the lights were still on, and from which he swore he could hear voices. Then he turned the corner into the servants' hall, where the two of them had agreed to meet. But there was no one there.

"Anna?" he whispered, afraid of being overheard by the elderly butler, who held a grudge against him, to say the least. Branson hardly dared breathe at all. Where was all his former socialist vigour?

After a few moments of standing rooted to the spot, he finally, finally heard her voice. "Mr Branson, over here," Anna whispered back. As fearful of being caught as he was, she was somewhere in a corner of the kitchen.

Having located her, Tom continued on tiptoe into the other room. This was absolutely ridiculous, what had he even gotten into his mind? In the darkness, her maid's apron stood out whiter than ever.

Once he was next to her, Anna asked anxiously, "After everything that happened this evening, do you think we can still manage to go next week?" She glanced at him through the murky darkness – God, how different Tom Branson looked in an evening suit.

"I think that with the family distracted," Tom whispered, "it will be all the easier to get away."

Anna couldn't help but smile. They were finally getting somewhere! "I can't thank you enough for your help, Mr Branson!"

Tom instantly returned her smile. "No need to thank me, I'm only doing what's right." Again, he glanced around the corner towards the butler's pantry. "But we still have to decide upon a day, depending on what happens upstairs," he said more quickly, "we'll speak again about that." Tom had developed this odd habit of referring to the others as 'upstairs' when he occasionally had a word with the staff – 'upstairs' as though he didn't belong with them.

"Thank you," Anna repeated, just as the door to Mr Carson's room squeaked open and the butler and the housekeeper's figures came into view, outlined sharply in the light. Anna and Branson pressed themselves quickly against the cool dark wall of the kitchen and held their breath, while Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes exchanged a few more words that were inaudible to them.

Branson couldn't help but look at Anna as they stood there, frozen, and they exchanged one last smile.

* * *

><p><em>Oh noezz Edith what are you doing! And Branson and Anna... So much intrigue, people! But otherwise I'm quite a dull person, thus, hereby, I ask you, if you've been sticking with this story for a while now, might you be so kind as to post a review and let me know? I am incredibly eager to see who my regular readers are, although of course also the ones who are new! So, new as well as old, please do review, just so I know. Thank you so much!<em>


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